The Dutch Mistress Ch. 03

Once more I find myself on my knees in exactly the manner that Sapphira Delatoise has decreed that I should present myself, her tall athletic figure, shaped by the corsetted leather leotard towers above me, her long finely muscled legs, their length exaggerated still further by the stiletto heels of her black leather boots underlines her stately dominance. I am becoming increasingly aware that this micro-management of my life is part of some bigger plan that she has for me as since her arrival on the scene the whole dynamic has changed noticeably. Arianne de Vries whilst undoubtedly a sadist seemed to be considerably less interested in the psychological control, preferring to concentrate on the discipline and punishment elements. Now I begin to consider that my purchase from Gert may have been so that she could make a gift of me to her younger lover. Sapphira I believe sees this as some kind of experiment in human behaviour, I am effectively to become a Pavlov's dog, trained to react instantly to her every whim.

My body is still weighed down, restricted by the slave irons and the heavy chains that have remained a constant reminder throughout the day of exactly what my position and status is in relation to my mistress. And I think that I am starting to see them now as being more symbolic of her ownership and ability to control me than a mere impediment to my movement, although they have certainly been that also, making every movement a real effort. We are approaching the end of the day and I am awaiting my evening feed, already I am beginning to think of myself in terms of an animal and his trainer. I have absolutely no doubt that this is her intention with regard to me. My food tonight will most likely consist of yet more of the bland porridge style mush that is already well on the way to seeing the re-emergence of the outline of my rib cage. After a week I judge that I must have already lost a couple of kilos.

Sapphira now held a can in one hand, a fork in the other. The pungent meaty smell reached my nostrils as I saw for the first time that it was dog food that I was to be given. I watched in horrified fascination as she carefully scooped just over half the contents of the can into the stainless steel feed bowl that she then placed in the centre of the coir mat in the corner of the kitchen by the AGA. My dilemma was now quite a simple one as she stepped back and said. "Please yourself boy. If it isn't eaten then it goes in the bin. Still, there is always tomorrow night, I would imagine that by then you will be hungry enough to eat anything. Of course I can't promise that your dinner will be quite as appetising as tonight."

This was quite obviously a threat, Sapphira was still ramping up her level of control over me. Either I submitted to her spiteful little game and ate the food or I refused and was punished by the withdrawal of even this meagre meal as well as the prospect of having still worse fare to come. The dilemma that faced me had, like every aspect of her plan, been carefully and cleverly prepared and implemented. It was a trap that was in plain sight but which I had no option but to walk into. I reasoned with my growing hunger now clawing at the inside of my belly that dog food couldn't be much worse than the dirt that I had earlier been forced to lick from the soles of the Frenchwoman's stiletto heeled boots. She tapped the shaft of her right boot lightly with the splayed tip of her black riding crop to demonstrate her growing impatience as she looked down upon me at her feet. "Well boy, you have until I count to ten to begin your dinner - or else you will lose it!"

Sapphira in this mood did not invite being toyed with, she now held every card, the entire pack in fact. Her triumphalism at having me exactly where she wanted was virtually palpable now, I was the beaten boxer on the ropes slumping under a barrage of blows with no prospect of either the bell or the referee stopping this uneven match. I was here only to suffer as much pain and humiliation as she decided to give me. I moved my face cautiously towards the food bowl. The pungent odour of the dark brown meaty chunks assaulted my olfactory glands, their repugnant appearance reminded me of faeces and made me recall her remark as to the consequences of me not eating what I had been offered. I pushed the idea of her doing that to the back of my mind. Surely even the mentally sadistic Sapphira would not resort to such depravity? I opened my mouth and held my breath, taking a small amount of meat into my mouth and immediately swallowing it so as to avoid experiencing the taste.

I told myself that this wasn't so bad as long as I didn't breathe as I ate. I went back for a second mouthful. Then there came the sound of Sapphira's laughter cascading down around me. This was quickly followed by the feel of the sole of her boot pressing down with increasing weight upon the nape of my neck as she forced my face down, grinding me deep into the dog food. The pressure increased as I struggled, her boot holding my face into the concave hollow of the bowl as the brown meaty mess covered my face. Trying to protest only resulted in more of the disgusting mixture entering my mouth, making me gag and choke.

Eventually she did relinquish the pressure and remove her boot from my neck. I lay on the floor beside food bowl, coughing and spluttering, the dog food now spread across my face. "Look at all this mess you have made." She snapped angrily. I heard myself weakly apologising as if it had somehow been my fault. I stole a glance at her face, her even, pristine white teeth exposed now in a smile of sheer pleasure as she savoured the imbalance of power between us as my abject capitulation ceded what little ground I possessed to her overwhelming force. A frisson of fear ran down my spine at this glimpse of her real character and the delight she took in knowing what her unbridled control might do to me.

The damp dish cloth, coming direct from cleaning pans in the kitchen sink was pushed roughly across my face, removing most of the meaty detritus. Sapphira sat on a chair, her long booted legs parted, either side of my squatting form. Her slim, elegant fingers with their neatly painted crimson nails were resting on the tightly stretched black leather that covered the prominent venus mound of her pubis. The bright steel tag of the zipper was between her index finger and her thumb. Gradually, as she applied more force the interlocking metal teeth of the zipper parted one by one.

The bare pale pink flesh of her labia lips was gradually revealed as I now found myself looking directly at her sex. It became clear that the act of subjugating me beneath her boot had been for Sapphira an intensely stimulating one. She ran a fingertip across the pussy lips, glistening with wetness as a direct result of these wanton acts of cruelty that had evidently served to turn her on so greatly. With her other hand she clipped a short leather leash to the ring of my collar. Slowly she began to tug me towards her until my head was between her thighs and I inhaled the delightful, musky aroma of her femininity, now sodden with her intimate juices. Her index finger brushed across the little raised pink nub of her clitoris.

The pain of my cock as it attempted to achieve a full erection inside it's steel cage reminded me of the times when I would take Debbie and bend her over the end of her sofa, spreading her legs to reveal her moist pink vulva before plunging balls deep into the woman as she struggled helplessly, wrists bound behind her back, taking her doggie style over the end of her sofa. I reflected on how much things had changed for me by the intervention of these two women in my life. It would have been wrong to have said that I was enjoying this treatment, but it was nevertheless a challenge. Maybe I was like a mountaineer, frozen and desperate but nevertheless experiencing something that the vast majority going about their everyday lives could never comprehend.

My tongue began to glide across Sapphira's clitoris, working back and forth, flicking to and fro. I knew that this was my forte. Every woman I had been with had complimented my oral technique which I had honed to such an extent that I could virtually guarantee a quality orgasm to any female recipient of my attentions. Sapphira Delatoise was to be no exception and soon her little cries of delight and squeals of pleasure filled the kitchen as I serviced her enthusiastically, their volume and intensity growing inexorably as I worked. Eventually her breaths came in laboured short gasps and her moans grew into a deep, full blooded scream. Sapphira bucked wildly in her chair, her hips pushing against me as she reached the peak of a particularly intense orgasm. Gradually this concerto of muscles and nerves attained their climax before subsiding into a peaceful dimuendo and she slumped back, eyes closed, fully satiated.

If I was expecting my performance to bring me some kind of gratitude and consideration from Sapphira I wasn't to be entirely disappointed. After her orgasm she had zipped up the leather corsetted leotard and then proceeded to unlock me from my slave irons. The heavy chains were removed and for the first time that day I was able to move freely. I was handed a thick, fluffy white bath towel. Sapphira led me from the kitchen to the downstairs shower room. "You have five minutes to shower." She said curtly.

Once inside the privacy of the shower room I quickly came to a decision. Sapphira was leaving me alone for just long enough for me to be able to bring myself off and dispose of the evidence. I guessed from how I felt my balls were full to bursting that there would be a fair bit of it to send swirling down the waste water pipe. The water streamed down across my face and ran in warm rivulets over my chest. I gripped my rock hard cock in my right hand and began to stroke, using the soap suds as lubricant. I felt the orgasm coming closer now as I increased the speed of the stroking as well as tightening my grip on my cock shaft. Suddenly the door from the shower room to the corridor was flung open. This just happened to be at precisely the same second as the first spurt of semen hit the glass sliding door of the shower screen. I found myself looking directly into the chestnut eyes of Sapphira Delatoise as the second shot of jiss landed a few inches lower than the first and both slowly slid down the glass. She pointed an accusatory finger at the two thick splodges of man cream. "Did you have permission to do that?" The question was purely rhetorical as we both knew that the answer was negative. I was in big trouble.

I slumped down onto my knees, my head now bowed in shame at having been caught in this shameful act of betrayal. I did however have a sneaking suspicion that I had probably been carefully set up to fall into this trap. "Well boy, what have you got to say for yourself for this outrageous behaviour?"

I remained silent, kneeling on the floor of the wet shower tray, my cock now flaccid as the final remnants of my orgasm dribbled from the slit. "Answer me boy!"

I was still totally dumbstruck at having been caught, eventually I mumbled. "I'm very sorry Mistress".

I repeated my apology, my head now bowed, my eyes fixed only on Sapphira's booted feet. Arianne appeared in the doorway of the shower room standing immediately behind her friend. "What has happened?" Her question hung in the air for a few seconds, then she spotted the the two splashes of thick, gloopy jiss on the glass of the shower screen. ."Oh I see. Well what did you really expect from a male slave? You know just how untrustworthy they are as a species. Secure the slave and we will discuss a punishment plan". She turned and walked from the shower room saying as she left, "Take him to my study when you are ready and we will look into this and decide upon an appropriate course of action."

Arianne de Vries' study was a large room with dark oak panelled walls. It was lined with bookshelves on two sides, loaded with row upon row of substantial looking volumes. A large desk stood in front of glazed french doors that looked out across a small neatly trimmed lawn to the rear of the house. A red bricked outbuilding that I took to be a garage stood just beyond the lawn. A drive lined with trees on either side led away into the distance and eventually gave onto what I assumed was the public road.

Sapphira disappeared briefly and returned carrying a large blue sports bag. She flicked on an Anglepoise desk lamp and adjusted it to shine It's beam down upon me where I was kneeling before the desk, the natural daylight was now starting to fade. I watched as she unzipped the bag and removed several skeins of white yachting rope all neatly coiled and tied. She laid them out on the desk in a row. She walked briefly across to the windows as if contemplating her next action before picking up the first coil and shaking it undone, the loose rope cascading to the floor. Now my arms were being purposefully tied behind my back, but not in the usual manner of the wrists together, this time they were being tied crossways so that each wrist was bound to the opposite forearm just beneath the crook of the elbow.

Next my ankles were bound before me, crossed so that my knees extended outwards and upwards. The long rope trussed each one comprehensively to the other and the loose ends neatly tied off. Next the iron collar was replaced, locked into position around my neck. A third rope, tied to the ring of the collar at my throat was passed beneath my ankles, back through the ring and around the ankles once more. It became clear that pulling on this rope would have a pulley effect, multiplying any effort applied as the rope between collar and ankles shortened and serving to draw my trussed body into a muscle torturing ball.

The door opened and Arianne walked into the room. She stood watching the final stages of the tie. "That course you did on Shibari has obviously taught you a great deal." She observed.

Sapphira stood back for a moment, smiling at her friend's compliment. "Yes it's called the shrimp tie because of the way the ropes splay out the subject's knees. In old Japan it was considered especially effective for gaining confessions from prisoners, although to be perfectly honest after a spell trussed like this you would confess to anything, luckily we don't need a confession though do we?"

Arianne broke into a soft chuckle. "No not at all, between the two of us we are judge, jury and executioner."

Sapphira picked up the loose end of the final length of rope and offered it to her friend.

"Here, I will give you the honour of making the final adjustment, tie him down as tightly as you consider fit, I am sure that however tightly he's tied the punishment does fit his crime."

Arianne stood before me with the rope in her hands. As she took up the slack the tension between my collar and my ankles began to increase. She began to pull with more force and as she did so my neck began to pitch forward, drawn downwards by the pull of the rope turning my whole body in upon itself into a ball.

"Keep going as far as you like, he's young and flexible, his body will be able to take it, it's only the compression of the diaphragm that's the limiting factor, in extreme cases shrimp ties can bring about asphyxiation, that's a distinct disadvantage if you are using it for interrogation purposes."

Arianne chuckled as she pulled harder, she tightened down the rope until I was effectively trussed so hard that she could pull no more. The athletic Sapphira took over and managed an extra centimetre or two before tying off the loose rope. "That looks fine." She said. "He is going nowhere until we decide to release him."

As if to demonstrate her point Sapphire lifted her right foot, placing the sole of her boot on my left shoulder. A gentle push had me tipping sideways onto the study floor where I lay drawing laboured breaths, clearly the result of the compression of my diaphragm that she had explained to Arianne. "You see, totally helpless."

"Let's go and have a drink, I've got a Prosecco chilling in the fridge". Arianne turned and walked from the room. Sapphira pulled me back into an upright position. I was looking directly down at the floor now the rope between my collar and my bound ankles reduced to little more than ten centimetres in length. I felt a leather hood being drawn over my head plunging me into a lonely darkness with only my tortured muscles and the sound of my breath coming in short, staccato bursts as the tight ropes did their cruel work.